Tiger's Eye
by HerbalTea-and-Tarzan
Summary: For Zoraida LaBelle, answers are what lie in Hamunaptra. But more than a missing father ties her to the lost city. The Gods and Time have more in store for her than what she's bargained for. To solve the mysteries of her past, she needs to find the Medjai. If Imhotep doesn't kill her first, that is. There was more than one betrayal that led to Seti's murder that night. ArdethxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! Thank you for stopping by! I'm so excited about this fanfiction, and have wanted to write it for a long time. Please be sure to FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW before leaving if you liked it! I appreciate all types of feedback.**

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The air was filled with the smell of blood.

Amunet could taste the metallic essence of it on her tongue, mixed with palm wine, cedar smoke, and incense.

The priestess strode through the large mummification room of Hamunaptra, screams from the Osiris priests echoing through the subterranean chamber as their tongues and organs are ripped out. She wiped away the tears from her face, smearing her makeup.

She could barely focus on the torturous havoc surrounding her. Since arriving in the City of the Dead, she had tunnel vision; only able to see what her target was. The chill of the Eastern desert evening didn't shake her from her thoughts. The sight of the constellations sparkling in the heavens above her didn't distract her like they usually did. Someone could have thrown water on her, and she would have kept walking through the embalming space, her focus on the sight ahead of her unwavering like nothing had happened.

Following her were the only people left she felt she could trust. Guards walked on her heels, the scowls on their faces directed ahead of her. They would stay with her through the whole night, protecting the very air she breathed.

Amunet approached the coffin being tended to in the corner of the room. The priests of Anubis, with their black jackal masks imitating the God, wrapped a large form with wide linen strips. His mouth already covered, the living man moaned in protest.

She held up her hand, golden bracelets jangling on her arms. "Halt," she said to the Anubis priests just before they began to wrap his eyes and ears. She was a terrifying omen in crimson, normally pin-straight locks of hair were inky tendrils from sweat and tears falling over her garbed shoulders. Foreboding shadows from the torchlight and fire pits behind the Hathor priestess cast her in darkness. "I want him to hear me."

Lifting the black Book of the Dead, she reached for the key in a pocket within her robes. She unlocked the book, cradling it in her arm as she turned the thick tablets for the correct set of spells. A curse: the Hom-Dai. She looked straight into the eyes of the man the jackal-headed priests held.

"_T'et an nut, qem-nef t'ai_," she began. Her voice weighed low and heavy in her throat. "_Ba-f aha em meter er-f. Sep-f maa her ma-khait ur. Qem-entu betta-f, het-f arit, sem-f ker re-f nekau t'er un-nef tep ta. Beta-f, seker-f, ker-n. An ertat-f sekem em amenta_."

A flurry of emotions stormed within the sinner's eyes. Anger, defiance, fear…

He deserved this. After everything he, and his lover, did, this monster would be cursed for all eternity.

The priests continued wrapping his face, finishing their job as the Amunet continued. "_T'etu-a am-f embah neter aa neb tuat_." She grew angrier, fire and poison biting into every word as her voice shook. "_Khesef-tuf, senar-tuf em amenta…_" She continued the enchantments as they laid him in the coffin.

Amunet had never performed this curse before. No one had ever performed it before. And as she read from the pages, she understood more underlying reasons as to why. The fire in the room seemed to flicker and shake, as though an invisible, impossible wind blew through the room and made the shadows crawl along the walls. It made the room seem darker than it was. A deep, low humming reverberated in her ears. It was as though the Gods were trying to drown out her damning, cursed words.

But she refused to stop until the curse was complete. This despicable person needed to pay for what he did.

She stepped back from the open coffin where the subject squirmed, trying in vain to break through his restraints. The priests held out a large jar and removed the lid. She watched as they poured a swarm of chittering, flesh-eating scarabs onto the panicking subject. As the scarabs scuttled over his body, the only things she heard above her enchantments were his muffled screams, then silenced by the laying of the lid over the coffin.

As they chiseled off the sacred spells from the lid of the dark human-shaped coffin, she finished the curse and slammed the book shut. Flicking her crimson robes, she spun on her heels, the guards at her back parting for her as she made her way through the chamber towards the stairs leading to the sands of the desert above.

They stayed by her side as they watched the sarcophagus being carried from below to the base of the Anubis statue watching over the city from the cliff it headed. They aided the Anubis priests in digging a hole deep enough to encase the traitor.

The Chief, Metjen, stood at her side, watching as they dug. Amunet turned and handed him the Book of Anubis along with the closed key.

"Ensure this is hidden away. For good. We cannot risk anyone coming to resurrect him," she said.

Metjen took the book and key from her, searching her eyes. He saw no life in them, no hope, and no joy. Only sorrow, vengeance, and despair in those windows to her soul painted dark amber, speckled with gold. Like tiger's eye gems. Amid all of his interactions with her, he never noticed how vibrant and beautiful they were. How captivating they were, as though they cast enchantments of their own. He finally understood.

He gave her a nod. "Yes, priestess."

Casting one last deathly glance back at the sarcophagus, Amunet's hand snaked up to clutch the turquoise necklace around her neck.

"We have avenged Pakhom, Metjen," she said, her voice breaking. Metjen pretended not to notice. "But our work is far from over."

She turned, heading towards the entrance of the city. Metjen followed at her side.

"What orders from the Pharaoh, priestess?" He asked.

Newly coronated Pharaoh Rameses II, distraught from having his loving father ripped from his life so viciously, had barely spoken to anybody since the gruesome murder. But having grown up with him and experience court life with the prince, he found in Amunet a comforting friend. And in him she found an easily persuaded authority.

Amunet closed her cloak over her body, starting to feel the chill. "As with the tombs of the Pharaohs past, the Medjai will guard the city, and its greatest secret. Rameses orders that his father's fortune and this monster are not to be disturbed. For all eternity. If we must, make the city disappear as though it never existed."

Metjen looked over the city. The gateway to the Underworld had never felt so ominous. While eternal life was only guaranteed to the Pharaohs, the dream of passing into the West to the Field of Reeds was meant to be a comfort. Knowing what would soon rest beneath the sands filled him with dread.

"Should he ever arose, the world will descend into darkness and death," Metjen said, as though he were trying to process the reality of the situation himself.

Amunet's tiger's eye gaze grew cold. "Your job is to ensure that never happens. The Medjai are no longer the protectors of the Pharaohs and the Egyptian people, they are the protectors of all of mankind from certain evil."

She touched his arm, noticing the familiar tattoos. Her heart began to break all over again. "Do it for Pakhom." Her eyes watered with tears upon saying his name. How she wished she could be held in those strong arms one last time. She turned back towards the statue of Anubis, the God's furrowed brow made his gaze seem like a warning. "Imhotep must never rise."

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**I tried to weave in some actual history here, since the film is a little shabby regarding it. The ancient Egyptian in this chapter are pieces of spells that I pieced together from passages in _The Book of the Dead_ transliterated and translated by E.A. Wallis Budge. They are as accurate as I could possibly make them. Definitions below:**

**_T'et an nut, qem-nef t'ai, __qem-nef t'ai__: _saith he that is in the tomb, he hath been found an evil-doer.**

**_Ba-f aha em meter er-f: _his soul standing as a witness.**

**_Sep-f maa her makhait ur: _his sentence is right upon the scales great.**

**_Qem-entu betta-f: _hath been found wickedness in him.**

**_Het-f arit: _hath he done harm in deed.**

**_Sem-f kher re-f nekau t'er un-nef tep ta: _hath he let go with his mouth evil things whilst he was upon earth.**

**_Beta-f, sekher-f kher-n: _hath he sinner, hath he done evil in respect of us.**

**_An ertat sekhem em amenta: _let not be allowed to prevail in the west.**

**_T'etu-a am-f embah neter aa neb tuat: _may I speak with it before the god great the lord of the underworld.**

**_Khesef-tuf, senar-tuf em amenta: _may he be repulsed, may he be turned back from the west.**

**Please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW if you'd like!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi all! Thanks for stopping by for Chapter 2! I want to make a disclaimer: the name "Amunet" I realize is similar to the name of the mummy from the 2017 Mummy film. This fanfic is in no way, shape or form, connected to that film. The name "Amunet" was chosen for a very specific reason.**

**Either way, please feel free to FOLLOW, FAVORITE, and drop a REVIEW to tell me what you think!**

**EDIT: I had the change the POV for stylistic choices regarding future chapters. I apologize for the confusion.**

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**1926 **

Zoraida shielded her eyes from the scorching mid-day sun as the car approached the archaeological site. The rectangular temple was immaculate. The thick lotus style columns peeked through the grand entrance. The sight of a preserved temple made her heart jump with intellectual joy and curiosity.

"What a beauty!" Lord Byron Pritchard announced as he parked near a party of horses and camels. Turning off the ignition, he ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair before tugging on his pith helmet. Zoraida grinned and proceeded to hop over the door of the roofless car.

Jonathon, sitting in the passenger seat, squinted at the temple. "Yes, yes, a beauty indeed. A well-preserved temple usually means well-preserved items inside."

"Archaeologist or treasure-hunter, Jonathon? How would you like to introduce yourself to our colleagues here?" Zoraida rolled her eyes.

"Whatever will get me a drink by the end of this," Jonathon sighed.

"If you promise to behave yourself," she began, "I'll buy you three drinks as soon as we return to Cairo. Byron is doing you and Evy a large favor by taking you with us despite your shattered reputation."

Jonathon muttered in agreement as he sauntered off.

Zoraida removed her wide-brimmed hat, the thick silk scarf securing it to her head catching around her neck. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck from beneath her pinned coiffure. She cursed the hairstyle as she pulled it out of its pins.

It's too boiling hot for nonsense like this. She combed her hair over her shoulder in a thick sheet of dark walnut tresses.

"Are you going to tell me whom the dedicated was for this temple?" She asked Byron, gathering her hair into a disorderly bun on top of her head. Shorter pieces of her hair slipped out from their hold and fell by her ears, tickling her face.

"I already told you everything I know," Byron said as they all strode towards a large mounted white tent.

"Which was nothing." She raised a teasing eyebrow at him while jabbing him in his side with a finger.

He placed a hand between her shoulder blades and guided her towards a tent where the head of the dig site was certain to be. "Which is why I invited you along, dear Zoraida."

"That's a lie and we both know it," Zoraida said through a forced smile.

"Anything to get you out of that dusty museum – Ulysses, ol' chap!" Byron plastered a wide smile on his face, greeting his colleague.

Bent over a desk, a gentleman sporting a tailored jacket and jodhpurs looked up from some incomplete temple sketches. Zoraida could tell from his arrogant grin down to his authentic leather books that she would have her hands full.

"Ahh, Lord Pritchard!" The two cads shook hands and clapped each other on the back. "Good to see you, ol' friend! Thank you for accepting my invitation. We could use someone with your expertise on this dig."

Zoraida made sure to keep a few steps back, casting her eager attention towards the temple. The sooner they got introductions out of the way, the sooner she could explore.

"My pleasure, of course. Let me introduce a few of my colleagues," Byron said, turning to Jonathon who had been moseying about. Hearing his name, he snapped to attention.

"Ulysses McCallister, may I introduce Mr. Jonathon Carnahan." Byron stepped aside for them to shake hands.

"Carnahan!" McCallister exclaimed, his eyes widening. "I knew your father once upon a time, many years ago. Following in his footsteps, I see. Good to meet your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Jonathon said with equal enthusiasm.

Byron held out his hand to Zoraida next and she fixed her gaze on the confused McCallister. She took two purposeful steps toward McCallister whose expression changed to feigned interest.

"And this is Ms. Zoraida LaBelle," Byron continued.

Zoraida's eyes were hard and hooded as she returned McCallister's cold stare. She kept her shoulders back and her head held high with proud indignation.

The Egyptologist furrowed his brow. "LaBelle, you say? As in – "

"My late father, the Egyptologist and renowned temple sketcher, Charles LaBelle? Yes, you are correct," she interceded with a smile.

"Yes, yes… I've worked with him before on quite a few projects. I… was not aware he had children." McCallister tried to choose his words with care.

"You must not have known him that well then," Zoraida quipped at him with a smirk. He bit the inside of his cheek, taking offense to her statement. "He never mentioned you, to my memory. If you knew him as well as you think you did, then you would be pleased to know that I, too, am following in my father's footsteps."

His eye twitched with irritation, and her smirk deepened.

"So it would seem," he said through gritted teeth. "Lord Pritchard, might I have a private word with you?"

He averted his gaze to the English Lord for only a moment. He gulped in discomfort when he turned back to Zoraida and saw that she hadn't broken her harsh gaze and tight smirk.

"Of course, Ulysses," Lord Pritchard said with exaggerated genteel. He stepped forward, winking at Zoraida in passing.

The slight upturn of her lips stretched into a mischievous smile as she stepped backwards, giving a small nod to McCallister before leaving the tent with Jonathon.

Jonathon examined the dig site from where he stood with a loud sigh. "Blazes, it's bloody hot, isn't it?" He mused.

Checking to ensure her most needed tools were secure in the inside pockets of her tan fitted vest, Zoraida gestured towards him and set off towards the temple. "Come along, Jonathon. Let's take a look around."

Jonathon's eyes bulged out his head. "Ah, shouldn't we wait for the good chaps?"

"No," she scoffed, marching away from the tent. "I'm not going to stand around waiting."

The towering temple was truly a sight. Zoraida took note of its familiar architecture; it was comparable to another well-preserved temple she'd visited several times. As she ambled through the entrance to the temple, her gaze shifted upwards towards the part of the ceiling that had crumbled over time. Thankfully, it was only one part of the ceiling. If there was no effort to contain the current damage though, more of it would crumble under continuous pressure and excavation.

The rays of sunlight beamed through the open cracks in the walls and ceiling, the natural lighting guiding her towards new explorations. She placed a gentle hand on a lotus pillar, the stone warm against her palm. The warmth made her eyes flutter shut and she took a deep breath in.

She smelled the dry dustiness of sand, the faintest essence of rosy Rhondinium, and kyphi incense. It reminded her of a perfume that she bought at the bazaar in Cairo, laced with the notes of cassia, mint and cinnamon.

Releasing her breath, the faint rattling clinks of metal and wood sistrums and musical chanting filled her ears.

She opened her eyes and kept moving deeper within the temple. Her arm remained outstretched, her fingertips brushing against the pillars. This was what Zoraida loved about her job. At every new excavation, with a single touch of her fingertips she could smell, hear, feel the history and life from thousands of years ago.

Approaching a wall, faint remnants of hieroglyphs and paintings seemed to glow beneath a layer of dust and sand. She reached into her vest pocket and brought out a soft bristled brush and swept it over the wall. After uncovering the intricate painted figures on the walls she examined their forms and distinctive headdresses. The cartouches next to them revealed more clues.

"Ah, there she is!" Byron's nonchalant voice echo through the complex.

"Ms. LaBelle!" McCallister's came soon after, laced with venom.

"Mr. McCallister, have you learned to whom this temple belongs?" Zoraida asked without turning to speak to him. She simply kept brushing the dust and sand from the wall.

He didn't say anything but a few flustered stutters.

Rolling her eyes, she twisted her head to look back at his reddening face. "Well? Have you?"

He finally inhaled sharply and placed his hands behind his back. He tried in vain to compose himself in the presence of his wealthy friend. "No, we have not."

Zoraida's eyes roamed over the complex, observing the greater details. She flicked my brush between two fingers as she gathered my thoughts.

"Interesting," she stated, pursing her lips. She spied Byron leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed and sporting a small smile. She narrowed her eyes at him and began marching across the temple to the opposite wall. "You told me you didn't have any details, Lord Pritchard."

"I had my suspicions, Ms. LaBelle." Byron smiled wider.

"Don't be cheeky," she warned with a playful grin.

On the opposite wall, she swept her brush over some more hieroglyphs and paintings. Many of the original bold red, blue, black, and green colors were vibrantly on display and free from abandonment. she smiled with intellectual glee.

Zoraida turned back to Byron and McCallister. "You're lucky I'm here, Mr. McCallister. You appear to be excavating a temple for the Goddess Hathor."

The Egyptologist paled at her announcement. "I beg your pardon? How can you be so certain? You've only been here – "

"There are several paintings of her on these walls. A few of her woman form with the cattle horn headdress holding the sun disk. There is also at least one in her cattle form," Zoraida interrupted him, pointing out the areas she had dusted off. "And if you look above, you can see the painted constellations indicating a very early form of the Dendera Zodiac. You know, the one found in the Hathor Temple complex in Dendera?" She directed their attention with her brush to the ceiling above the center of the grand entrance.

McCallister only gaped up at the ceiling. So she continued. "The architecture indicates it was built well before the Dendera Hathor Temple complex. It's much smaller on one hand, and it's not Roman enough. I'd date this temple at three thousand years old, 19th Dynasty, at the start of it anyway. The fact that it's in the center of Thebes directs me to believe there was a royal, a Pharaoh or even a Queen, who had a close association with Hathor and wanted a temple erected to honor her."

McCallister seemed incapable of moving. Finally, he examined his whereabouts to see if any of his diggers were close enough to witness this newcomer showing him up. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Thank you, Ms. LaBelle, for your interesting insight. Be that as it may, Lord Pritchard's insight will be sufficient from here on out."

"Oh, I doubt I'll be as insightful as Ms. LaBelle, Ulysses," Byron said, looking amused as he stepped forward. "You see, I have more broad knowledge of Egyptian religious cults and mysticism. My primary focus being Osiris. Ms. LaBelle, however, specifically specializes in female religious participation and Goddess worship. For an excavation like this, she's quite an asset."

Byron and Zoraida exchanged appreciative glances. McCallister seemed to have lost his voice as he tried to come up with something to say.

"I can create a simple layout of the temple and what you can expect to find from here on out. Something more refined than what I saw you looking at earlier," Zoraida offered McCallister. He confirmed her suspicions that he had been the one to draw them when he pursed his lips together. "If you didn't already know, further back in the temple will be the chapel and primary worship space."

Something tickled the backs of her ears.

Zoraida stopped.

It was like a whisper, a light breath on her neck. The space seemed still for a moment as she turned towards the back of the space.

"Zoraida?" Byron cocked his head to the side.

She held up a finger. There it was again, that tickle on her ears. She furrowed her brow. She twisted her body back towards the gentlemen. "Have you found the crypts yet?"

McCallister blinked at her question. "I beg your pardon? Er, no. How can we be certain there are crypts?"

Zoraida hummed, something itching in the back of my mind. She strode towards the back of the temple entering the open chapel space.

Byron, curious and intrigued, followed. McCallister only followed to display his rage.

She walked along one of the walls, her hand brushing against it. She stopped when she looked down at the ground. Stooping, she ran a hand over the ground to brush away a thick layer of sand. With a sweep of her arm she brushed the sand away to reveal a thick square stone slab.

"Mr. McCallister, you wouldn't happen to have a crowbar on hand, would you?" She called back to him.

Zoraida stood by with Byron as a few diggers fetched a crowbar and began to wrench the stone slab from the ground. Jonathon finally had the mind to join them now that something worth his time was discovered. Anything could be down there, he had said.

"Honestly, you could have identified this whole temple by yourself without my help." Zoraida sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nonsense," Byron snickered. "And miss the genius I just witnessed. I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving you behind."

"You knew exactly what this place was. Admit it."

"I will not, because it's not true. Like I said, I had my suspicions. In my opinion, this is exactly what you needed," Byron said. "It destroys me to see you moping around that museum. Where you need to be is out here in the field."

She swallowed, not wanting to admit he was right.

She held her tongue as the diggers finally craned the stone slab out of the floor and dragged it away. She bolted forward and got to her knees to peer into the opening of the dark crypt.

After hammering a stake into the ground, she proceeded to lower herself into the shadowy space with a rope. It was barely a fifteen foot drop. Nearing the end of the rope, she dropped to the ground and rubbed her hands together.

"A torch and lighter, if you please!" She called back up.

Byron tossed a makeshift torch of wood and cloth down to her, followed by his personal lighter. The flame was slow to catch, but soon she could see more of the space around her. The sensitive flickering light made her tan sandstone skin glow like gold.

The crypts weren't for the claustrophobic. And as Zoraida had suspected, there were jars, chests, and crumbling statues filling the space. By the looks of it, these artifacts have been untouched in over three thousand years.

"Zoraida, is everything alright down there?" Byron called down, his head peeking over the edge.

"It's fine! Come on down! Bring more torches!" She called back up. Her eyes remained on the artifacts.

Faded hieroglyphs marked the walls of the crypt. She brought the torch up to see them better. Running a hand over them to sweep the dust off, she noticed a cartouche. It was almost completely faded. Lifting her hand, she traced the hieroglyphs with a finger.

Bread, the senet placed over the water, the reed…

"A-mun-et," Zoraida sounded under her breath as she read aloud the name inscribed in the cartouche.

Shivers ran through her whole body, her heart racing at an alarming rate. A whisper of a breath brushed past her ear. She spun around, expecting to catch it. She faced nothing but the contents of the crypt. She inched forward, her eyes darting around.

A black chest caught her eye, resting beneath a headless statue of a goddess. Balancing the torch against a statue of Anubis, Zoraida carefully placed the headless statue on the ground. She wiped her hands on her jodhpurs before resting a hand over the lid of the chest. The dark wood was carved with hieroglyphs. The most prominent was the scarab with rounded wings holding the sun disk.

Lifting the lid, the only thing she noticed was a necklace. A turquoise and gold scarab amulet. Taking it into her hand, Zoraida brought it closer to the torchlight. It was in impeccable condition. It had to have been as old as everything else in the crypt. Yet, it could have been mistaken for some old trinket she could have bought at the market. The gold still glimmered by the light of the fire, and the turquoise was bright and vivid.

"What's that?"

Zoraida jumped, shrieking and almost dropping the amulet.

Byron stood over her, chuckling with his own torch as she released a sigh of relief. He'd removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves up of his ivory button down shirt. His sandy waves were free from the confines of his helmet.

"Just…" she swallowed away the last of her fright, "an amulet I found here." She turned her head, eyeing McCallister climbing down the rope.

"It's turquoise, isn't it? That was commonly worn for Hathor, if I'm not mistaken," Byron noted.

She nodded, running her thumb over the stone embedded into the scarab shape. "But this isn't a typical menat that priestesses wore and used. Those consist of strings and strings of tiny turquoise beads. This is an actual necklace."

"It looks too pristine to have been here for over three thousand years," McCallister scoffed, leaning over Zoraida's shoulder. His eyebrow twitched. "It was likely made not that long ago and placed here. Some cruel prank done by some other excavation team, I would think."

She knitted her brows together. "That seems like a lot of work, don't you think? If there was another excavation team here then you would know already, and you wouldn't be here."

McCallister snorted and straightened himself. "It likely has no value, since as you said it isn't typical for a priestess's menat." With that he walked off to look around more.

Byron turned back to Zoraida. "So what do you think?"

She ran her thumb over it one more time. "I think it needs to be looked at some more. It's a peculiar find in a place like this."

"I agree," Byron said. He leaned in closer, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. "If McCallister doesn't think it has any value, keep it. Besides, it'll bring out your eyes."

Zoraida smirked.

He has a point, I suppose.

The blue-green of the turquoise and the gold of the necklace would accentuate the gold flecks within her dark amber eyes.

Like tiger's eye gems.

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**More characters come next chapter, and one of them's just looking for a good time ;D**

**Please FOLLOW, FAVORITE, and REVIEW! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much for the support so far! I hope you enjoy!**

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"Ooh, Zoraida! I'm so happy you're back!" Dovie squealed. She unlinked from her brother, Byron's, arm to sweep Zoraida into a tight embrace.

Zoraida squeezed her best friend's willowy form, inhaling the scent of jasmine. Finally being back in Cairo, she was able to relax and focus on something other than work. Well, at least until she needed to return to the archives of the Museum of Antiquities the following day.

The trio returned that morning and agreed to meet at Fort Brydon's bar for drinks and to catch up with Dovie. But bathing and settling back in first were priorities for Zoraida. After a week of sweat, sand, and McCallister's sneering, it was refreshing to be back in a dress and have clean hair.

Dovie linked arms with her as they strode into the bar, Byron holding open the door for them. "The curator has been so fussy lately. He's been criticizing the way I make coffee. I am convinced he doesn't like it when you go out on digs, as much as he tells you otherwise."

Dovie and Zoraida received a few stares when they entered the bar. Byron's willowy younger sister stuck out like a sore thumb with her lily-white skin and flaxen blonde hair. Her rose colored dress didn't help keep attention away.

The smell of sweet rum and floral wine ensconced the room with a sophisticated aura. The tumbling waters of the fountain in the middle of the bar relieved any tension Zoraida clung to. She led Dovie towards where Jonathon was sitting at the bar. A bulky, disheveled gentleman sat next to him, and they both turned their heads to look at the two women.

"Uncle Terrance is a difficult man to please," Zoraida said. "Don't take it personally."

"Difficult? He's impossible! I've never felt more incompetent at anything. And I'm incompetent at everything." When she bit her lip, her overbite was more pronounced. Zoraida couldn't help but chuckle as they both slid onto stools.

"Dovie, you know that's not true," she said, rubbing her back. "Don't say that about yourself."

"Three drinks, that's what you promised me, Zoraida," Jonathon addressed her over the bar. He had to look past the gentleman between him and Dovie.

"And three drinks is what you'll get," Zoraida said, nodding to the bartender. She smoothed her braid over her shoulder.

"You wanted to work, Dovie," Byron reminded his sister, raising an eyebrow. "You could have chosen not to."

It was true. Byron and Dovie were wealthy enough to maintain their estate they inherited back home in England. All the while, they created a comfortable life for themselves in Cairo. Byron participated in successful archaeological digs, his Egyptology education an asset. Dovie begged her brother to move out to Cairo with him and her best friend. But Dovie wasn't an idol person. Thankfully, Zoraida had managed to convince the curator, Dr. Terrance Bey, to hire her as his secretary.

"And sit around all day while you all go on adventures and study brilliant pieces of history? Not when I could be doing something at least a little useful," Dovie groaned.

The disheveled man next to her eyed her as he raised his shot of whiskey to his lips. "I can think of something useful for you to do."

_What did I just hear? _

Zoraida looked past Dovie, gawking at the man. She noted his rat's nest hair and shirt with shorn sleeves. He'd clearly had a rough go of something. To Zoraida's surprise, his strong jawline, and strong, sturdy stature counted towards his perceived attractiveness. But not his manners.

Dovie took a moment to process what she'd heard. She blinked as she took in at Zoraida's shocked expression. Finally, she turned to face the man.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, incredulously.

The man looked between Dovie and Zoraida. Zoraida was certain her eyes darkened with anticipating rage.

"No begging needed," the man said with a shrug.

American, Zoraida noted, taking in his deep voice. She should have suspected.

"I would like to offer you the opportunity, _sir_, to retract your words towards my friend," she retorted.

The man put his shot glass down and lifted his hands in defense. "Didn't mean any offense, I'm just looking for a good time. I figured your friend was too."

Zoraida's jaw dropped. "What exactly are you implying?"

Byron leaned over the bar to address the raised voices he heard. "Is everything alright over there?"

The man squinted his eyes, confused. He eyed Byron, and shifted his gaze between him, Dovie, and Zoraida. Jonathon winced before taking a swig of his drink.

"It seems the wrong thing," the man said, answering Zoraida. He turned on his stool to face Jonathon. "I thought you said they would be looking for a good – "

The man didn't get to finish his sentence.

Jonathon swiftly punched him in the face.

The man's nose crunched and his head jerked back. He wiped his face, and within seconds he tackled Jonathon to the ground.

Dovie shrieked and Zoraida yanked her away from the brawl. Byron darted from his stool to pull the man off of his friend. Jonathon shielded his face with his arms. Byron attempted to wrench the man from his friend, but met a punch to the face himself. He toppled to the ground but he was soon back on his feet to try again.

The bartender and another patron managed to wrangle the man. They restrained him by yanking his arms behind him, British guards burst the establishment doors. In a flurry of ivory and tan, Dovie and Zoraida witnessed the guards restrain both Byron and the American. She searched the bar and the draped booths lit by candlelight. In the chaotic frenzy of the fight between him and the American, Jonathon managed to slip away unseen.

A guard approached Zoraida and Dovie. "Please excuse us, but did you ladies see what happened?"

Zoraida sighed, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she glared at the American. "Yes, we did, Lieutenant."

The American, sporting a bruise against his temple, groaned. "It's my lucky day, isn't it?"

* * *

"I'm just saying, I don't think what he did was egregious enough to warrant an arrest." Dovie and Zoraida strode through the door of Zoraida's flat.

"He started a fight, Dovie," Zoraida pointed out, backing against her door to close it. "Byron and Jonathon could have been seriously hurt. Given, I'm pretty sure Jonathon started it and somehow by the end of it all he managed to disappear. We should at least be grateful they let Byron go. He was only trying to stop the fight. The Cairo authorities said they've been searching for this American for other _egregious crimes_. They mentioned something about abandoning his post in the French Legion, or something along those lines. It's out of our hands now."

Dovie flopped into a green-upholstered chair within the living room. "Oh, I suppose you're right. As usual."

Zoraida smiled and shook her head. "Tea?" She offered as she put the kettle on in the kitchen.

"Of course!" Dovie gasped as she straightened in her chair. "Oh, and while you do that, I _must_ tell you about something that happened while you were gone. I wanted to wait until we were somewhere completely private so that Byron wouldn't overhear us. You know how he is."

Zoraida chuckled as she prepared two teacups and filled the porcelain teapot with two teabags. "I do indeed."

Ever dramatic, Dovie clutched the arms of her chair. Her expression became serious as she prepared to tell her story. Well, as serious as someone like Dovie could get. It only humored Zoraida the way Dovie attempted to deadpan. It was as though she were preparing to recite a monologue on the stage.

Zoraida settled into a chair next to her, making herself comfortable. Dovie had a tendency to tell her stories with the utmost detail, as if it was the most interesting gossip in Cairo.

"Alright," Dovie started. "It was about a day after you and Byron left when Dr. Bey had a visitor. It wasn't on his agenda for the day, so you can imagine my surprise when he arrived at the museum with a tall, mysterious stranger dressed all in black."

Zoraida couldn't hold back her smile. Her best friend had a way with words that could make you listen to everything she had to say. The draw of her lovely grey eyes and animated hand gestures entranced every listener.

"I prepared coffee like I usually do when he has visitors. Now, when they walked by my desk to go into Dr. Bey's office, this visitor wore a mask. But when I entered the office he had removed it. And, Zoraida," she inched herself to the edge of her chair. Zoraida raised her eyebrows in appeasing anticipation. "Zoraida, he was so handsome. His features were so familiar though. As I gave them their coffee, I did look between them and could _swear_ they were related. Not that I think the curator is handsome or anything; he's much too old."

Dovie pondered this, her expression perplexed. She dismissed her thoughts with a shrug and a flippant wave of her hands. "Anyways, I think overstayed my welcome a second too long because I wanted to wait for the visitor to try the coffee. At least _he_ seemed to like it. But I was soon shooed out of the office by Dr. Bey. Now, I kept the door open just a crack. I couldn't hear anything as I worked at my desk because they spoke in low voices. But when it came time for his scheduled engagement with a patron, I went to the door and peered through. Dr. Bey was holding a journal.

When I knocked and entered, I told him it was time for his next meeting. So I went ahead and started cleaning up the coffee as they finished their conversation in Arabic. I have no idea what they said. You know how terrible my Arabic is. I approached Dr. Bey's desk first for his coffee, he barely drank any of it by the way. And he placed the aforementioned journal inside a desk drawer."

Dovie seemed to stop short. She wrang her hands together, and Zoraida noticed she couldn't hold eye contact with her. Zoraida's brow furrowed at Dovie's nervous expression.

"Dovie, is everything alright?"

When Dovie finally met her gaze, Zoraida's stomach began to slowly sink.

"You see, Zoraida…" She swallowed. "On the journal, I saw the initials C.G.L embossed on the cover."

She spoke her words carefully. The slow sinking of Zoraida's stomach transformed into an abrupt drop. A high-pitched screech grew in her ears.

C.G.L…

They were the same initials as…

Charles Gerard LaBelle…

Her mouth turned as dry as the Sahara desert. She didn't realize that rising screech in her ears was the kettle boiling until Dovie said her name.

Zoraida blinked and remembered where she was. Her flat. In Cairo. With Dovie. And the kettle ready for tea. She stood, wiping her damp palms down her dress before retreating into the kitchen.

She had turned off the stove when Dovie rushed to her side to pour the hot water into the teapot. She handled the tea tray herself.

Zoraida went through the motions of sitting back down in her living room, seeing and processing nothing around her.

After setting down the tea tray on the coffee table, Dovie grabbed Zoraida's hand and squeezed it.

"Now, I only got a quick glance at it," Dovie added, her sweet soprano voice gentle and soothing. "I could be mistaken. He quickly shut the drawer and locked it as soon as he noticed that I saw it. I finished my task as soon as I was able. They left together, and Dr. Bey closed his office door and locked it on his way out. After that, I didn't see the mysterious stranger again."

Zoraida listened. She tried to keep her breathing level as she took in Dovie's story. With the way she told her experiences, it was hard to remember that they weren't made up. They were true. As frivolous and simple as Dovie was, she was unapologetically honest and truthful.

There seemed to be truth in her words, regardless of what Zoraida wanted. It had been a few years, but she remembered her father owning several leather journals. He always seemed to have on him as they traveled between Paris, London, and Cairo. Journals that vanished with him.

Uncle Terrance, though they weren't related by blood, told her that nothing was found. It was as if her father and his excavation team had disappeared into thin air. Zoraida had known Uncle Terrance her whole life. There was no reason for him to lie. He was her father's closest friend, and was her guardian if anything had happened to her father before Zoraida turned eighteen.

Dovie squeezed her friend's hand before turning to the tea set and pouring some tea into a cup for her. "Like I said, I only got a quick glance. I could be completely mistaken. That G could have been a misshapen S for all I know. Zoraida, please say something. I'm terribly worried about you."

Zoraida absorbed Dovie's statement. She was right. She could have been mistaken. She nodded, releasing a shaky breath.

"You're right. Besides, why would Uncle Terrance lie to me about something like that?" Zoraida managed a smile, taking the saucer and teacup from Dovie as she offered it.

Dovie cupped Zoraida's chin with a relieved smile. "Precisely. He cares about you very much. He keeps a framed picture of you, your father, and him on his desk."

Zoraida nodded again. She had seen it. Though she was much younger, Uncle Terrance expressed that it was one of his favorite pictures of her. He said Zoraida was nearly a young replica of her Greek-Egyptian mother, Mariam. This always made Zoraida proud. Though in Uncle Terrance's picture, it wasn't only the physicality that reminded him of her. It was the passion and determination in Zoraida's eyes that he saw as well. He knew Mariam for as long as Zoraida's father and she were married; before she died in childbirth.

Zoraida believed that she rarely felt the loss of being motherless growing up. There were of course some things about womanhood a father couldn't help with. Despite this, she had a doting father who invested in her education. He ensured she had everything she needed to be successful in life. She devoted herself to him, and supported every single one of his endeavors. That was because he always came back for her. From when she was a child left in the care of Uncle Terrance to her years in University, her father always came back.

That was, until he didn't come back from a fool's expedition to Hamunaptra.

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**This was actually a really fun chapter to write! I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi all! Thanks so much for your patience while I got this chapter out! If you enjoyed it, please give the fic a FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and leave a REVIEW!**

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Zoraida was a beacon of fuschia and red in the dim bleakness of the Museum of Antiquities' archives. Lit by weak lamplight, the restored statues of ancient Egyptian Gods and Goddesses cast leering shadows over the basement walls, archived artifacts stored away in glass cases and crates. No matter how often she dusted the surfaces, a thick layer of dust would always cake her finger after running it along the surface.

Cramped, and with little room for personalization, Zoraida somehow didn't seem to mind her office situation. She had a desk as a simple workstation, complete with a framed picture of her and her father. When she found herself cooped up for too long without going on a dig, the lack of natural light and ventilation made it easy for her pretend she was in a tomb.

At that moment, she wished that's where she actually was.

Zoraida tried to distract herself from the tightness in her heart by leaning over some thirty year-old blueprints of the museum. The feeling hadn't left her chest, even after Dovie left her flat the previous night. She hoped a good night's rest would ease the tension, but she woke up feeling the same. She found her thoughts constantly drifting to her father and Uncle Terrance, and everything Dovie said.

She grunted in frustration, running a hand through the loose locks around her face that refused to stay pinned behind her ears. She ended up pulling her hair out of the chignon at the nape of her neck. Any curl she attempted that morning with a hot rod was non-existent as her slick tresses slid down her back. This was when she envied Evy Carnahan, the librarian of the Museum's stacks and collections, for her fluffy long curls. No matter how hard Zoraida tried, she could never get her hair to do anything remotely stylish. And cutting it into the sleek bob that was popular was simply out of the question.

Her eyes ventured to her purse sitting on the floor against her desk. When she sat in her chair and settled it on her lap, she pulled out a trinket. The turquoise amulet from the Thebes Hathor Temple.

Perhaps she could distract herself after all.

Holding the necklace in her careful hands, Zoraida still couldn't believe how pristine and well-preserved it was. The gold of the necklace still shone under the weak lamplight. Signs of some aging were present in the brown specks spotting the metal. The turquoise scarab pendant puzzled her though.

A symbol of rejuvenation, rebirth, and resurrection, scarabs represented the God Khepri, who was the God of the rising sun and renewal of life after death. Ancient Egyptians had several outlooks on the afterlife. There was the Duat, or the underworld ruled by Osiris; the Sekhet-Aaru, the Field of Reeds, that was a heavenly version of Egypt that reflected an idealized vision of one's life on Earth and equaled eternal life; and there was rebirth, though what that meant varied from Egyptian to Egyptian and which Age one was researching. Overall, it meant successful rebirth into the underworld after the arduous journey to get there after death.

The scarab pendant of turquoise suggested that it may have had some significance to Hathor worship. However, after racking the encyclopedia of ancient Egyptian knowledge in her brain, Zoraida couldn't place its significance to Hathor at all.

Running her thumb over the turquoise, the smooth stone under her skin soothed the tension in her chest. In fact, it relieved all tension she felt throughout her body. It was as if there was a sigh released in her brain. There was a sense of ease that filled her, a fluttering veil covering reality as her gaze transfixed on the necklace. The warmth of sentimentality flushed over her like an embrace. A sudden urge overtook her and she lifted the necklace over her head and let the chain rest against her hair and neck. She flipped her hair over the chain and touched the pendant now resting against her sternum. That warmth seemed to dance through her soul, a wild and passionate love that felt as old as itself. It flickered across her lips like a gentle kiss that took her breath away.

Though she had nothing to prove it, the notion that it was a personal item rather than a religious one came to Zoraida's mind. Archaeologically speaking, she would never be able to present that as fact. She needed more solid evidence to support that notion. Never one to dismiss intuition, Zoraida decided to head to the stacks. A few books on ancient Egyptian jewelry and religious items never hurt a situation like this.

As she climbed the stairs, she jumped as an alarming series of crashes shook the staircase. Particles from the ceiling rained on her while she raced up the rest of the steps and flew through door to the library.

What she witnessed was the toppling of the tall, full bookcases to the ground, like dominoes in a circle. Loose leaves of pages flew through the air while books slid from their shelves to ruin.

In the middle of it all was Evy Carnahan, all soft and bookish features, watching it happen. Eyes wide with horror, Evy removed her round spectacles from the bridge of her nose as the last bookcase fell. She turned and saw Zoraida gawking at the mess.

"Oops," Evy mumbled, breathless.

"Oh, Evy," Zoraida said. If Uncle Terrance saw this –

Shocked stuttering interrupted her thoughts. The curator had stumbled onto a fallen bookshelf, assessing the damage of his library. Dovie stood behind him, her mouth stretched into a terrified grimace.

"Look at this! Sons of the Pharaohs!" Terrance Bay bellowed, his voice echoing in the room. Evy glanced away, a strong, embarrassed flush flooded her face. She tried not to look guilty as Dr. Bay hopped off the bookcase towards her. "Give me frogs! Flies! Locusts! Anything but you!" He waved the letters in his hand at her. "Compared to you the other plagues were a joy!"

"I am so very sorry, it was an accident," Evy stammered. She sounded sincere, but Zoraida knew that it wouldn't be enough. The look on Dr. Bay's face was derisive.

"No. When Rameses destroyed Syria that was an accident. You," he admonished, "are a _catastrophe_! Look at my library! Wh-why do I put up with you?!"

Evy was about to speak, but Zoraida stepped forward. She had caught the fuming rage in his eyes from where she stood. "Uncle Terrance, please – "

Dr. Bay held up a warning finger at Zoraida. "No, no, I want to hear this." He turned back to Evy and crossed his arms over his dark suit. "Well? Go on."

Evy's eyes flashed as the pressure and attention turned towards her. "Well-well you put up with me because I can read and write Ancient Egyptian." She smiled, hasty to try to make a point. "And I can decipher both hieroglyphics and hieratic. And well, I am the only person within a-a thousand miles who knows how to properly code and-and catalog this library, that's why!"

"I put up with you because your father and mother were our finest patrons, that's why!" Dr. Bay snapped at Evy. The defeated and humbled look that encased Evy's face at the mention of her parents brought some softness to Dr. Bay's voice. "Well, come now, Allah rest their souls."

He took a deep breath before composing himself once more with a stern expression. "Listen, I don't care how you do it, I don't care how long it takes, straighten up this meshiver!"

Dr. Bay gave her a final reproachful look before spinning around and climbing back over the bookshelf. Dovie stood frozen while watching the entire altercation. Zoraida climbed over a bookshelf to Evy and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Don't worry, he'll forget about it soon. I can help clean up if you'd like," Zoraida told her, looking around for a place to start.

Evy rubbed her forehead, examining the damage already done. "No, no, don't worry about me, Zoraida. I'll take care of it. I'll see if I can get Mohammad to help get the shelves back upright."

Zoraida gave her shoulder another comforting squeeze. "Alright. Just let me know if you need me to do anything."

"Of course, thank you," Evy said. She turned away, dismissive towards everything but the mess she created.

Zoraida spotted Dovie still standing at the doorway to the lobby of the museum. She hopped on the balls of her feet, biting her lip as she looked back at Dr. Bay storming upstairs to his office. Since telling Zoraida what she saw while she was away, Dovie had been acting more awkward than usual. Zoraida's reaction didn't help.

That heaviness returned to Zoraida's chest and weighed on her as Dovie gave her a shrug. The secretary pranced off after Dr. Bay.

Zoraida's feet sent her chasing after them before she could realize what she was doing. She bolted up the stairs as fast as her heeled feet would take her. She kept her pace light and quick until she found herself in the hall leading toward Dr. Bay's office. Dovie's desk sat beside the door. She gave her friend a worried glance as Zoraida caught her breath.

"Uncle Terrance!" She called before he closed his office door. "Could I speak with you privately, please?"

His eyes softened when he saw Zoraida. Clutching the edge of his door, he nodded to her and gestured to his office. "Of course, my dear. Come inside."

Dr. Bay turned into his office to head to his desk. As Zoraida stepped forward, she noted Dovie's wide doe-eyes and pursed lips.

"I didn't tell you anything," she mouthed.

"Of course," Zoraida mouthed back at her. She clutched the turquoise necklace hanging around her neck.

Zoraida stepped into Dr. Bay's office and closed the door behind her with a click. Dr. Bay sorted through some contracts and proposals on his desk, foreign languages displayed on the pages. He clasped his hands together on his desk and looked to her, waiting.

Zoraida hadn't noticed that she was pacing around the chair in front of his desk, her hand still wrapped around the necklace. Holding it there seemed like the most natural thing to do, like a habit she had already formed. Seeing the expectant look on Dr. Bay's face while he waited for her to make use of his time made her plop into the chair.

"I trust you had a very successful dig with Lord Pritchard?" Dr. Bay asked, sounding interested.

Zoraida nodded, happy he took the lead on the conversation. "Yes, actually. A Hathor temple in Thebes. 19th Dynasty, with an early form of the Dendera Zodiac etched on the ceiling. I was able to get some of it sketched for the archaeologist. That will probably be the biggest find they have. Well, if they deem it important enough."

Dr. Bay gave her an approving bow of his head, what little short hair on the sides graying. "Excellent work then. Lord Pritchard wrote me this morning explaining he had a few things he would like for me to look at from the dig. If they appear to be fair finds, they could make it on display here. I'm glad the dig was fruitful then."

She didn't respond. She only bit her lip and rubbed her thumb over the turquoise stone. The tension thickened in her chest and between her and Dr. Bay. He appeared to notice it as well. He sighed.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Zoraida's words caught in her throat, trying to find the right thing to say that wouldn't cause suspicion. "I… I suppose…" She knew this would be hard. With any other conversation, she had no problem with confrontation. But this… She ran her free hand through her hair and licked her dry lips. "I've been thinking about it a lot. My father, I mean."

Nothing in Dr. Bay's expression changed. Zoraida couldn't tell if this was significant or not.

She continued. "It's been several years since he went missing. But I wanted to know… Was nothing really found?"

Zoraida feared this question was too obvious, too forward. She knew she had asked him this question many times before. She feared the sudden resurgence of questions about her father's disappearance would cause him to suspect if she knew something. He stared at her, acknowledging her stiff shoulders as he kept his expression blank and unreadable.

Finally, he sighed. "My dear girl, I understand grief takes many forms. You are still young, and your father was all you had in this world. His disappearance was a terrible loss. I know it can be hard to believe the circumstances under which he and his team disappeared. Impossible even. However, it is important for you to know that a thorough search was conducted. Nothing, not even a footprint, was found to give any clue as to what happened."

His voice was so steady and sure. It was hard not to believe anything he said.

Zoraida nodded slowly, keeping her head low. "I understand, Uncle Terrance. Though…" she considered her pause and whether what she was going to say next was wise. What was the worst that could happen? "I know he left everything in my possession. But, is it possible he left anything behind with you that may have given a clue to anything?"

She wanted to give him this chance. But his expression didn't change. "No, my dear. Please trust that if I had any inkling as to what may have happened or where he had gone, I would have acted on it in a heartbeat and not hesitate to tell you."

All Zoraida could do was stare at him, her jaw clenched as she considered his answer. Maybe Dovie was mistaken. She could easily have mistaken a letter or two. Nobody was perfect. But she also could not have been mistaken. Dr. Bay was a good man, but even he had his secrets. That was something of which Zoraida was always certain. As good as he was to her all her life, she knew there were many things about him she didn't know. Things that he actively hid, even from her. Nobody was perfect.

A knock came at the door followed by Dovie poking her head through the crack when she opened it.

"Um, excuse me, Dr. Bay. Evy and Jonathon are here and would like to speak to you," Dovie said. "They say it's a matter of 'archaeological importance'."

"Jonathon?" Zoraida raised an eyebrow. She hadn't seen Jonathon since the day before, right before he disappeared during the fight in the bar.

Dr. Bay groaned. "Ms. Pritchard, can't you see I'm in the middle of something – "

"No," Zoraida interrupted, standing from her chair. "It's perfectly fine. I'm sure what Evy and Jonathon have is something rather interesting. Otherwise, they wouldn't ask for your attention so desperately."

Dr. Bay huffed, closing his eyes. "Very well. Let them in."

Dovie was nearly barreled over by Evy and Jonathon. They rushed into Dr. Bay's office, holding a piece of papyrus parchment. Evy's eyes were wide with excitement, and Jonathon looked unscathed for the most part.

"Zoraida," Evy said, turning to her friend. "I am so sorry to interrupt, but what we have here is something I think would interest you as well."

Zoraida shook her head with a smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Ooh, this is so exciting! What is it?" Dovie squealed as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. She clutched at Zoraida's arm, a sparkle in her smile and eyes.

Dr. Bay sighed and removed his spectacles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come along, bring it forward before I decide this is all a waste of time."

Evy carefully placed the papyrus page on his desk in front of him. Zoraida spied colorful Egyptian drawings on the delicate yellowed parchment. Painted white lines connected the images together. All lines spread from a single green figure resembling the God Osiris.

Zoraida approached the desk. She placed her hands on the edge and leaned forward to view the discovery. Her eyes traced the blue waves of lines separating one part of the page from the other, forming a familiar shape.

"It's a map," Zoraida said under her breath, her brows furrowing. She glanced up at Dr. Bay who was examining it closely.

Evy rambled crossed to Dr. Bay's side to peer over his shoulder. "And you see the cartouche there? It's the official royal seal of Pharaoh Seti I, I'm sure of it."

Her energy was intoxicating. Zoraida could understand why. The map was indeed an impeccable find. It was in excellent condition with minimal tearing around the ancient folded edges. The colors of the ink used was still bright. Zoraida had to combine mental gymnastics with intellect to read upside-down the hieroglyphs etched into the papyrus. but she was able to make out the cartouche Evy had pointed out. And she was correct. It was unmistakably Pharaoh Seti I's royal seal.

"Perhaps," Dr. Bay mumbled, putting back on his glasses.

Jonathon paced beside his desk. "Two questions. Firstly, who was Pharaoh Set I? And second, was he rich?"

"He was the last pharaoh of the 19th Dynasty, said to be the wealthiest of them all," Evy replied with a smile.

"Good, very good. I like this fellow, I like him very much." Jonathon bit his finger as he continued pacing.

"I've already dated the map. It's almost three thousand years old. And if you look at the hieratics there…" Evy pointed to a corner of the map. Zoraida followed her finger. After translating it in her mind, Zoraida felt her stomach sink and that tension in her heart arise again. She looked back at Evy, whose eyes gleamed with hope and sympathy.

"It's Hamunaptra."

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